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better.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Gene put out his cigarette, screwing it slowly round. “ I’ve already told you, Señora Tolosa, I think you may be in considerable danger yourself—and your brother-in-law.”
    â€œHa!”
    â€œIf one accident can happen, another may do. Tell me, is it letters you have in Spain? Or a diary? Or photographs? What will you do with them when you get home—burn them?”
    â€œWhy should I trust you? You may be for the people who killed Juan.”
    â€œI don’t think you believe that or you wouldn’t have come here.”
    She stared at him, her face like a rock. “ No, I don’t think I believe that.”
    â€œWill you trust me?”
    â€œI can’t do that.”
    â€œThen will you come and see me again tomorrow? I think I can help you more than anyone else.”
    â€œThere is only one thing I want, and that is the life of the man who killed Juan.”
    â€œFirst you have to be sure of his identity.”
    She said: “This man Mal—Mandraki should know.”
    â€œI doubt it. One like that only knows the next step above him.”
    She was silent, but even her silences were combative. The more he saw of her the more formidable he realised she was. She was hardwood: hammer a nail into her and the nail would bend.
    As she went to the door he said: “You haven’t told me what you came to tell mey have you?”
    â€œI came to tell you nothing. I came to ask you what you don’t know.”
    â€œIf you want my help during the next few days, don’t come here again. Go to the first newspaper kiosk in Constitution Square, in the north-east corner. Ask for Papa André. He will tell you where I am staying.”
    That appealed to her, not because she was a romantic and welcomed conspiracy but because it somehow convinced her that he was not on safe ground himself.
    â€œPhilip will wonder where I am.”
    â€œDon’t trust him too far.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œA hunch.”
    After a moment she said: “ I can trust only myself.”
    It was still daylight when she left. Through the blinds in his bedroom he watched her go off down the street. So far as he could tell nobody followed her.
    He packed his grip and when dusk fell, paid his bill and left the hotel. He turned due south and was soon in the huddle of mean streets and tumbledown houses which mark the old Turkish quarter at the foot of the Acropolis. Unerring as a dog making for a buried bone, he pushed his way through the lanes of antique dealers, shoemakers, junk sellers, food stalls and second-hand clothes merchants; as the lights came on all this bazaar district was coming to life, people thronged, chattering, arguing, fingering the goods, elbowing each other out of the way. He got through the busiest part and turned into a narrow unpaved way with a gutter down the middle and wooden balconies nodding overhead. At the end of it he stopped and rapped at a door.
    Somewhere near, hens were cackling sleepily. He knocked again. While he waited the floodlights were switched on for the Parthenon, and the great temple suddenly stood out like a prophecy above the noisy city.
    A light came on and the door was opened by a middle-aged dark-skinned woman who frowned at him and pushed back her lank hair with nails as black-rimmed as a mourning envelope.
    â€œYou have accommodation?” he asked in Greek.
    The woman made no reply but stepped aside to allow him in.

Chapter Six
    The next morning Gene telephoned Mme Lindos.
    â€œI’ve changed my address, Sophia. The Astoria couldn’t keep me. My present place isn’t on the phone, but I’ll put a call through to you from time to time in case you are able to do anything in that matter we were talking about yesterday.”
    She said: “You are not in trouble already?”
    â€œNo, no, of course not.”
    â€œAngelos Vyro rang this morning. He seemed very